Missing You
by 39addict101
Summary: Missing him has become just a part of living.
1. Chapter 1

Her guitar pick ran easily over the strings. The thick chords reverberated in the room and as her fingers flew over the strings, her thoughts turned to him.

 _Again._

His smile was like a candle in the dark. Every time she saw it, she couldn't help but feel warm and cozy inside, as if she'd just sipped hot chocolate, with steam still rising off its frothy top.

All she ever wanted was the old feeling to come back they'd had when they were teenagers. So much had changed since then.

They'd grown up . . . but she still loved him.

She loved him the same way she had when they'd been branch leaders together. She loved him with the same love she'd loved him with when she first saw him, broken and hurting, hiding behind a false front of pride and wealth. Except now her love was more intense.

She stopped playing and tossed her pick aside. Her callused fingers easily plucked the strings but her thoughts were not with the instrument she cradled in her lap.

Her left hand pressed and released the strings, her eyes shut, creating a medley in her mind. _Of him._

Of every memory she possesed, she found a chord that fit the scene.

Her cell phone rang. She dropped the guitar and lunged for it.

With disappointment she saw the Caller ID, cursed and threw her phone aside.

It was only Jonah Wizard.

Only Jonah Wizard. She laughed to think she would have such a thought.

She leaped for the phone again and picked it up on the last ring. "Hello?"

"Darling, it took you long enough to answer."

She sighed. "What do you want, Jonah?"

"You."

His answer sucked the breath out of her. "What?"

Jonah was quickly rephrasing his sentence. "I didn't mean it like that, yo! I meant that I needed your help."

Amy laughed. "Let's hope none of your fans were listening."

Jonah laughed. "Or Nellie. She'd have my backside bruised and bloody for a month straight."

They both erupted into laughter so joyous it filled the room's atmosphere and seemed to bring the sun back into the room.

Amy stood up and opened the curtains, letting the sun in. It lifted her spirits and she couldn't help but wonder why she hadn't done it earlier? Her melancholy mood was quickly evaporating, a puddle in the intense rays of sunlight.

"So what do you need help with?" She asked.

Jonah paused for a second. When he spoke, it was with great hesitancy. "Its . . . its Ian."

Without meaning to, she smiled. The smile was sweet, so she let it remain on her lips. Leaning against the wall she asked, "With what?"

"It's him. He's withdrawn into himself. No one can reach him. Not even Cara."

 _Cara_. The smile evaporated from her face at the thought of the blonde dimwit who had stolen Ian from her so many years agao. If Cara couldn't there get to him, was no way Amy could.

 _Unless_ . . . unless he still harbored the same feelings she did. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. There was nothing wrong with trying.

"I can come." She said. "When do you need me?" She crossed her fingers, hoping beyond hope that the answer was "Right now."

Her crossed fingers were unnecessary. Jonah answered quickly, going 70 on a road that was only meant to be traveled 25. "Get on the earliest flight you can." He paused. "No, actually, I'll send my jet to get you."

She smiled. "I'll start packing. Text me when my ride arrives."

Amy clicked her phone off and smiled.

She had packing to do.

* * *

Amy stood nervously in front of her mirror. Her long auburn hair was curled in soft waves that framed her face. Her eyes were rimmed with eyeliner. She wore an olive green Gucci dress that complemented her skin and hair . Several braided bracelets adorned her slender wrist.

But it wasn't right. She wanted to be the Amy that Ian remembered. She wanted to be the same girl he'd fallen in love with years before.

She went to wash her face, and do something different with her hair.

The old Amy had never worn eyeliner, and the old Amy never curled her hair.

She pulled out a brush and a hair tie and went to look in her closet for those old jeans she used to wear.

It was better, but she still wasn't the same.

Her hair was up in a loose ponytail, the hair tie barely grasping the thick tresses. Her eyes were natural, her face held a small amount of blush and foundation.

She still wore the same bracelets, but the jeans had been too tight.

She'd tried on several different outfits, and finally turned to the dress she had been wearing before. Maybe Ian would appreciate a little sophistication.

Grabbing her phone and her duffel bag she stepped outside, locking the door behind. She tossed her bag in the backseat of her car.

Then she frowned and turned back towards the house.

On an impulse that she couldn't describe, she turned on one heeled foot and walked back towards the door. Unlocking it, she stepped inside and grabbed her guitar.

Maybe a little music would liven Ian up.

When she was safely on the road, her hands gripping the steering wheel, all she could think of was Ian.

Missing him had become part of her daily routine. Every time she heard his name she couldn't help but smile. Any news of him at all brightened her day, no, her week.

Every time her phone rang, she would jump for it, a starving dog lunging for a scrap of meat. And every time she saw it wasn't him, her spirits would sink, a stone dropping to the bottom of the ocean.

Missing him was her life.

And if nothing changed, Amy knew it would still continue in the same way.

* * *

He couldn't take it.

The heat was too intense. The sun of pain beat down on him, the sands and rock of the desert he was crossing alone reflected the heat upon him, until he was scorching with the intense fire that was heat.

Standing on his own feet was too hard, only because he was standing _alone_. If he had someone with him, _supporting him,_ it would be easier. Much easier.

All he ever wanted was someone "to have and to hold", he wanted to be able to cry with that person, to laugh, to have a companion who would stand by him at all times.

But instead he was tired. So tired.

Stitching up broken dreams, shattered on the concrete of life, with nothing more than the thread of hope and a needle of memory was exhausting.

He knew that life was rugged. He knew it was twisting mountain path, littered with jagged rocks, with rattlesnakes waiting, ready to pounce.

All he ever wanted . . . ever needed . . . was the feeling he'd gotten when he was with _her_.

When he'd made it to the other side of this gully of depression he'd find her, but not until then, because, while he wanted someone to cry with him, it wasn't right for him to drag her down with him.


	2. Chapter 2

The airport was buzzing with activity. Amy, with her duffel thrown over one shoulder and her guitar slung on her back, hurried through the crowds of noisy human life.

Her heels clicked on the tile floor; her bare legs shivered. The airport's temperature was barely above freezing, Amy reflected, and she should have worn those jeans.

She stepped outside, into the gloomy London rain and instantly felt her spirits droop. Rain fell in a steady drizzle, there was no distinguishing between each drop of rain. It was as if someone sat in the clouded sky, slowly pouring out a bucket of frigid water.

She raised her hand and a taxi pulled up to the curb. She gave him Ian's address and settled into the backseat, arranging her duffel and guitar neatly on the seat next to her.

The driver sped away and Amy closed her eyes, afraid of what was to come.

In all honestly, she didn't remember the source of the argument that had driven them apart. She remembered only the fighting, the struggle to contain herself, the horror of watching Ian's mask crumple, seeing him yell at her to get out, feeling his contempt and scorn.

She shuddered to think of it and she wondered why she was going back.

The time passed all too quickly. The taxi driver announced their arrival and Amy nodded listlessly, feeling dull and stupid.

She pulled out the required bills, numbly handing them over to the driver, who snatched at them greedily. like he'd never seen money before. Grabbing her duffel and guitar, she stood in the driveway, surveying Ian's house.

It was the same way she remembered it: the tall, thick posts holding up the ceiling for an expansive veranda. Wilting roses sat drenched in slushy black mud. She smiled looking at them, remembering how Ian had always taken such care in making his flowers grow.

But now they were drooping, the weight of the water collected in their petals pulling them down. _Like me._ She thought. _My past mistakes are pulling me down too._

It was a sobering thought. Amy gulped as she looked at Ian's house. Its brown door beckoned her, its shiny knob pleaded with her to come up and swing it open as she once had, merely announcing, "I'm here!"

But now formality must be taken. How was she supposed to explain to him that she was coming to stay? Would he even let her in?

She sighed and stepped forward.

Slowly, slowly, her feet crept forward, with ever step the clicking of her heels reminded her how stupid she was.

 _You-are-Stupid! You-are-Stupid!_ Her heels cried and her brain began to pick up the chant.

 _Stop it._ She told herself. She was at the door. Raising her hand, she knocked on the wood, hating how hollow her knock sounded.

Amy's heart was pounding within her chest. She felt sweat dripping down her back.

Ian opened the door.

"Hello." She said.

Ian looked at her, his eyebrows raised, and for one long moment Amy wondered if it would be . . . _if it could be_ like it had been.

"Goodbye." Ian said. And he shut the door in her face.

"Lovely." Amy moaned. She plopped her duffel down on the cement ground and sank down to sit on it. At least the ground was dry.

She slid the straps off her guitar case off her back and laid it on the ground beside her. Tenderly, she unsnapped it and lovingly looked inside at the light wood surrounded by rose velvet.

Her hands were grasping, lifting it out of its case before she knew what she was doing. She set it on her legs and pressed down with her left hand, plucking at the strings with her right.

She played with her eyes shut, reflecting on memories from so long ago. She started with the fire that had destroyed her parents and all Amy held dear. She moved on to happy days with Grace, her fingers and her brain somehow knowing the correct strings to press as her right moved up and down, gently picking the strings in a soft background harmony.

She played her memories, feeling herself drift away in the music.

It was a sad song, for her life had not been easy. It was one of toil and stress, of heartbreak and pain, of broken dreams and lost loves.

She moved her hand, ready to play a F chord, when the door opened.

Ian stood, looking down at her. His eyes were teary, his face blotched.

"How'd you know?" He asked. "How'd you know what I was feeling?"

Amy looked up at him, questioning. "What do you mean? I was just playing." She decided not to tell him what had really inspired the chords.

Ian shook his head, running a hand through his raven hair. "I don't know. It's . . . it's uncanny. It was like you were playing in my mind. You know? Like everything I was feeling you reflected in the music."

Amy stood up, still holding the guitar tight against her body. "Can I come in?"

Ian nodded. Picking up Amy's duffel, he held the door open for her as she stepped into the house of anguish.

* * *

 **Thank you thank you everyone for your reviews filled with love and CC.**

 **Champ . . . first of all . . . did you really think that I would leave you like that? OF COURSE THIS ISN'T A ONESHOT!**

 **XD It's ok.**

 **So . . . when I said thick I'm pretty sure I meant "loud" or . . . "strong." I don't know why I used "thick" and now that you pointed it out it sounds incredibly stupid.**

 ** **I'm going to go fix that.****

 ** **LOL, I did go overboard with my metaphors didn't I? I'll have to fix that too . . . and because I don't have your review in front of me I haven't replied to everything.****

 ** **Thanks to Star, Rival, iheartNYCity, and innercornerhighlight, and Ruby (we miss you girl so much)****

 ** **Thanks to all of you for the CC and one more thing . . . .****

 ** **Rival . . . I don't think I write Amian _that_ well and I will update The Twisted Affair soon . . . I'm working on it right now . . .****

 ** **So . . . . about this story. I don't know _why_ I love incorporating the music into this so much. So if you don't like it don't hesitate to say so, because I'm not so sure how I feel about it myself. ****

****And also . . . the lacking author's note last time was done on purpose. Its not that I didn't want to say something . . . .****

 ** **I included "Lovely" just for fun. :PPPPPP****

 ** **Adios, amigos!****


	3. Chapter 3

Everything was the same. The couch was the same squishy brown leather; Amy wanted to sink down into it, dozing off as she had done so many times.

The walls were the same creamy white accented with dull colors that complimented the furniture and color scheme of the room perfectly. Paintings that looked suspiciously like Picassos adorned the walls, even though Ian had insisted they were not.

The carpet was the same white fuzz that felt amazing on your feet and made you wish you were an ant. Just to be able to walk through a forest of fluffiness. Amy had always known that if the couch was taken, she would be able to fall asleep on the lush carpet.

She looked up abruptly to see Ian standing with her duffel. She took it from him and said, "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

Ian shrugged. "Here's fine." He was wearing suit pants and a white shirt. The missing jacket was carelessly flung over a chair, yet because it was Ian, it looked as though it was a baby laid gently down to take a nap.

Yes, Ian was the same. But something was different.

Amy turned to Ian and saw that it was him. It showed in his eyes. They were the same dark amber, liquid gold, except the fire was missing from the dark orbs.

They lacked life. They were dull. They were broken, showing the hurt that Ian had experienced.

Amy set down her duffel on the floor. "Ian, I'm sorry. About our argument."

Ian's eyes hardened. Amy instantly regretted bringing it up. "It's fine." His voice was chilly, showing that it was anything but fine. "We don't need to talk about it right now."

Amy said nothing.

Ian looked at her. "Why are you here?"

Amy felt out of place in her heels and dress. "They sent me to you."

Ian snorted. "Why? So you can fix me? Amy, no one can ever fix me. I've been hurt too much. Life's been hard on me."

Amy shook her head. "Ian, no."

Ian shook his head, desperately. "No. No, Amy." She could tell that her name was awkward on his tongue.

"Ian." Amy held up a hand. "Please. I'm here to help. And then I can leave."

Ian frowned. "What, are you going to get me a psych or something?"

Amy smiled. "I'm going to be one."

Ian held up his hands, collapsing bckwards unto the couch. "Really? What makes you qualified to talk to me? If I recall correctly, you're the one who's cracked and broken down several times during a mission, just when we needed you most."

Amy sighed. He was right. "Ian . . ." The words wouldn't form. "I'm . . ." What was she going to do? "I'm going to be here for you and that's all."

Ian snorted. "You've sure been here before. And if I recall, last time you were here, I kicked you out and for a very good reason."

Amy felt her face heat. "Ian, do we need to relive the past?"

Ian narrowed his eyes at her. He turned away, his handsome profile turned towards the window that overlooked the soggy backyard. "I'm reliving the past every day."

Amy opened her mouth but no words were there. There was nothing to say. Despite this, she found herself speaking, spitting out words she didn't want to say. "Me too, Ian. Me too."

Ian turned towards her. "It's not fair." His voice cracked. "Why me? That's what I ask myself all the time. Why me? Why couldn't someone else have done it? They'd have been strong enough."

"Ian . . ." The words were a stab in the gut. They were exactly the words she had been pondering for the past five years.

Ian shook her off. The moment was gone, faded into the past, just as all the good times had. "Just put your stuff up in the guest bedroom. That's where they've all stayed before you came. They gave up after a while. You will too."

She picked up her duffel and guitar. Kicking off her heels, she looked back at Ian, who stared out the window as though she wasn't there.

She walked towards the stairs, her feet sinking down into the plush carpet. As she ascended she ran her hand along the banister, feeling the same grooves in the polished wood she'd felt so many times before.

Her thoughts turned to the last time she'd been here . . . inside Ian's house. Why had they had to argue here, of all places?

Now it held so many memories, both good and bad, but the one freshest in her mind was that of their argument.

Amy reached the top of the stairs, gasping at the state of disrepair. Cobwebs hung down from the ceiling. She could see clearly that Ian walked only to his bedroom. Stepping towards the door that was the guest bedroom, she tentatively placed her hand on the doorknob.

Twisting it, she stepped inside. It was worse than she thought. The room looked as if it had been ransacked. And then she remembered.

The argument. The dish. The mirror. The silver dish she had thrown lay where it had still fallen, the mirror was cracked where the dish had hit it.

Her thoughts flew back to that day.

Ian's words.

Her words thrown back at him, a double-sided knife in his heart. Every word had hurt her too.

Her hands on the dish. The dish flying from her hands, towards Ian, who had stepped out of the way at the last second.

The sound of the mirror shattering.

And then Ian yelling at her to get out.

It was a cruel joke that Ian sent her up here. He hadn't told anyone else to stay, that was for sure. The bedspread was the same as it had been when they had argued.

He hadn't touched the room the entire time she'd been gone. No one had.

Could it . . . could it mean that he couldn't stand to see the effects of their argument? Was it possibly a sign that he harbored the same feelings that she did, the feelings they'd supposedly abandoned five years ago?

* * *

 **So. . . . obviously I should be updated Die Twisted Affare instead of this . . . but I have a really bad case of writer's block with that and this is coming along sooooo nicely sooooooooooo**

 **FORGIVE ME, FOLKS!**

 **I hope this is ok. I read over it and couldn't find any errors, but all ya'll have so much better eyes than I do.**

 **CC is greatly appreciated.**

 **XD Etincelle . . . I'm glad you liked my little moment.**

 **Star? I take it you're studying Latin . . . like, all the time? lol**

 **Thanks everyone for your reviews . . .**

 **And guys, I'm not replying to my "favorites" I'm replying to those whose reviews have stuck in my mind.**

 **So,,,,give me a funny review and I'll probably say something about it.**

 **Thanks for reading guys!**


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